A NOVEL DIFFICULTY FOR A MAN OF WEALTH.

The trouble with most people, rich and otherwise, is to know how to keep their money; how to get rid of it was the difficulty with which “the Golden Shoemaker” was beset. “Cobbler” Horn’s unalterable purpose was to retain no more than a comparatively small portion of his wealth for his own use. Since he had entered upon his fortune, he had already given away a great deal of money; but it seemed to him a very trifling amount in proportion to the vast sum he possessed. He was, moreover, aware that he was getting richer every day. Since the property had come into his hands, the investments it comprised were yielding better than ever before; and he could not endure that such vast sums of money should be accumulating upon him, while there was so much misery and want in the world. He believed that his immense wealth had been given him, in trust, by God; and that it was not absolutely his own. The purpose of God, in bestowing it upon him, was that he should use it for the benefit of all who had any need which might be supplied by its means; and, by so much, it belonged, not to “Cobbler” Horn himself, but, under God, to those who possessed any such claim to its use. He was convinced that no preacher had ever been more definitely or solemnly called to the ministration of the “Word” than was he, “the Golden Shoemaker,” to the ministry of wealth. And it was a ministry after his own heart. Full of Christ-like love and pity for the needy, the sad, and the sinful, he revelled in the gracious opportunities which now crowded his life. He had few greater pleasures, in these days, than that afforded him by the signing of cheques. To negotiate a contribution from him for some worthy object was a means of grace;—so hearty and joyous was his response to the appeal, and so thankful did he seem for the opportunity it had brought.

Never, perhaps, were the functions of a Christian man of wealth more clearly comprehended, or the possibilities of blessedness involved in the possession of riches more fully realized, than by “Cobbler” Horn. He often told himself that, by making others happy with his money, he secured the highest benefit it was able to impart. Thus bestowed, his wealth afforded him infinitely greater satisfaction, than if he had devoted it entirely to his own personal ends.

But “the Golden Shoemaker” was not satisfied. His money was not going fast enough. The amounts he had already dispensed appeared but as a few splashes of foam from the sea. He wanted channels for his benevolence. His difficulty was rare. Most men of means find that they have not the wherewithal to supply the demands of their own many-handed need. He was able to satisfy almost unlimited necessities beyond his own, but was sadly troubled to know how it might be done. Yet he was determined that he would not rest, until he had found means of disposing, in his Lord’s service, of every penny that remained to him, after his own modest wants had been supplied.

Actuated by this purpose, “Cobbler” Horn resolved to pay another visit to his minister. Mr. Durnford had helped him before, and would help him again. Of set purpose, he selected Monday morning for his visit. Unless his business had been very urgent indeed, he would not have run the risk of disturbing Mr. Durnford at his studies by going to see him on any other morning than this. But he knew that, on Monday morning, the minister was accustomed to throw himself somewhat on the loose, and was rather glad, than otherwise, to welcome a congenial visitor at that time.

Mr. Durnford, as usual, gave his friend a cordial greeting. There was not a member of his church who occupied a higher place in his regard than did “Cobbler” Horn.

“Glad to see you, Mr. Horn!” he said, entering the dining-room, whither his visitor had been shown by the maid; and he heartily shook “the Golden Shoemaker” by the hand. “This is a regular ‘Blue Monday’ with me, as, indeed, most of my Mondays are; and a little brotherly chat will give me a lift. How go the millions?”

By this time they were seated opposite to each other, in two comfortable chairs, before a cheerful fire. The minister’s half-joking question touched so closely the trouble just then upon “Cobbler” Horn’s mind, that he took it quite seriously, and returned a very grave reply.

“The ‘millions,’ sir, are not going fast enough; in fact, they go very slowly indeed. And, to make a clean breast of it, that is what has brought me here this morning.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Durnford, with deep interest.

“But, sir,” added “Cobbler” Horn, half-rising, and putting out his hand, “don’t let me hinder you. I can come another time, if you are busy just now.”

“Don’t speak of such a thing, my dear friend!” cried the minister, putting out his hand in turn. “Keep your seat. I’m never busy on a Monday morning—if I can help it. I am always ready, between the hours of nine and one on Monday, for any innocent diversion that may come in my way. I keep what is called ‘Saint Monday’—at least in the morning. If I am disturbed on any other morning, I—well, I don’t like it. But any reasonable person who finds me at home on a Monday morning—against which, I must admit, the chances are strong, for I frequently go off on some harmless jaunt—is quite welcome to me for that time.”

“I had an idea of that, sir,” responded “Cobbler” Horn.

“Ah, you are a most considerate man! But now, about the millions?”

“The Golden Shoemaker” smiled.

“Not ‘millions,’ sir—hardly one million yet—indeed a great deal less now, actually in my own hands; though I am seriously afraid of what it may become. All my investments are turning out so well, that the money is coming in much faster than I can get rid of it! It’s positively dreadful! I shall have to increase my givings very largely in some way.”

The minister held up his hands in mock astonishment; and there was a twinkle of honest pleasure in his keen, grey eyes.

“Mr. Horn, I believe you are the first man, since the foundation of the world, who has been troubled because his money didn’t go fast enough!”

“Well, sir, that is the case.”

His unwieldy wealth weighed too heavily upon his heart and conscience to permit of his adopting the half-humorous view of the situation which Mr. Durnford seemed to take.

“But surely, Mr. Horn,” urged the minister, becoming serious, “there are plenty of ways for your money. To get money is often difficult; it should be easy enough to get rid of it.”

“Yes, sir, there are plenty of ways. My poor, devoted secretary knows that as well as I do. But the puzzle is, to find the right ways. If I merely wanted to get rid of my money, the letters of a single week would almost enable me to do that.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Durnford, “of course. I know exactly how it is. You could make your money up in a bag, and toss it into the sea at one throw, if that were all.”

“Yes,” replied “Cobbler” Horn, with a quiet smile; and he sighed faintly, as though he wished it were permissible to rid himself thus easily of his golden encumbrance.

“But that is not all, Mr. Durnford,” he then said.

“No, Mr. Horn, you feel that it would not do to cast your bread on the waters in that literal sense. You are constrained to cast it, not into the sea, but, like precious seed, into the soil of human hearts and lives—soil that has been prepared by the plough of poverty and the harrow of suffering. Isn’t that it, my friend?”

“Cobbler” Horn leaned forward in his chair, with glistening eyes.

“Yes, sir; go on; you are a splendid thought reader.”

“You feel that merely to dispose of your money anyhow—without discrimination—would be worse than hoarding it up?”

“That I do, sir!”

“It is not your money, but the Lord’s; and you wish to dispose of every penny in a way He would approve?”

“Yes, sir,” was “Cobbler” Horn’s emphatic confirmation; “and I’m so anxious about it that often I can’t sleep at nights. I expect the Lord gave me all this money because He knew I should want to use it for Him; and I’m determined not to disappoint Him. I feel the more strongly on the subject, because there’s so much of the Lord’s money in the world that he never gets the benefit of at all.”

The minister listened gravely.

“So you want my advice?”

“Yes, sir; and your help. My difficulty is that it is the unworthy who are most eager to ask for help. Those who are really deserving are often the last to cry out; and many of them would rather die than beg. Now, sir, I want you to help me to find out cases of real need, to tell me of any good cause that comes to your knowledge; and suggest as many ways as you can of making a good use of my money. Will you do this for me, sir? Although you have helped me so much already, I don’t think you will refuse my request.”

The minister listened to this appeal from “the Golden Shoemaker” with a feeling of holy joy.

“No, my dear friend,” he said, “I will not refuse your request. How can I? Believing, with you, that your wealth is a Divine trust, I regard your appeal as a call from God Himself. Besides, you could not have demanded from me a more congenial service. You shall have all the help I can give; and between us,” he added, with a reviving flicker of his previous facetiousness, “we shall make the millions fly.”

“Thank you, heartily, sir. But I must warn you that you have undertaken no light task. We shall have to dispose of many thou——”

“We will make them vanish,” broke in the minister, “like half-pence in the hands of a conjuror.”

“I know,” said “Cobbler” Horn, with a smile, “that you ministers are well able to dispose of the money.”

“Yes, I suppose we are. But, dear friend, let it be understood, at the outset, that I can be no party to your defrauding yourself.”

“It is all the Lord’s money,” said “the Golden Shoemaker.”

“Yes; but, if you employ it for Him, He means you to have your commission.”

“Oh, as to that, a very little will serve. My wants are few.”

“My dear friend,” remonstrated the minister, “are you not in danger of falling into a mistake? God has given you the power to acquire a great deal of the good of this world; and I don’t think it would be right for you not to make a pretty complete use of your opportunities. Though you should be ever so generous to yourself, and live a very full and abundant life, you will still be able to give immense sums of money away; and such a life would fit you all the better to serve God in your new sphere.”

“You think that, do you, sir?” asked “Cobbler” Horn, evidently impressed.

“I certainly do.”

“Well, I will consider it; for I dare say you are right. But to return to what we were talking about just now, perhaps, sir, you could give me a hint or two, this morning, with regard to my money?”

Thus invited, Mr. Durnford ventured to mention several cases of individual necessity with which he was acquainted, and to indicate various schemes of wide-spread benevolence in which a man of wealth might embark.

“Cobbler” Horn listened attentively; and, having entered in his note-book the names Mr. Durnford had given him, promised also to consider the more general suggestions he had made.

“I am very much obliged to you, sir,” he said; “and shall often come to you for advice of this kind.”

“As often as you like, Mr. Horn,” laughed the minister; “it doesn’t cost much to give advice. It is those who follow it that have to pay.”

“Yes,” rejoined “Cobbler” Horn; “and that will I do most gladly.”

So saying, he rose from his seat, and held out his hand.

“Good morning, sir!”

“Good morning, my dear sir!” said the minister, grasping the proffered hand. “By the way, how is Miss Owen getting on?”

“My dear sir, I owe you eternal gratitude for having made me acquainted with that young lady!”

“I’m glad of that, but not a bit surprised.”

“She is a greater help to me than I can tell. And what a sad history she seems to have had—in early life, that is! Her childhood appears to have been a sad time.”

“Ah, she has told you, then?”

“Yes, it came out quite by accident. She didn’t obtrude it in any way.”

“I am sure she wouldn’t.”

“And the fact that she was once a little outcast girl increases my interest in her very much.”

“That,” said the minister, “is a matter of course.”